


The Dawn

by jessoterick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dragons, Gen, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Year Seven, M/M, Not Slash, Nothing explicit, could be considered pre-slash, emrys - Freeform, fanon goggles, post s5 Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessoterick/pseuds/jessoterick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"[Merlin] Watched little Harry Potter fight through a dark and mighty destiny of his own. Watched and didn’t lift a finger. And why? Because there was always an evil sorcerer, a dark wizard, a corrupt politician. There was always peril and there was always war, magic or otherwise, but in the end…nothing changed. The world moved on and Merlin was dragged along with it, still waiting, but scarcely hoping."</p><p>Merlin is at Hogwarts after The Battle, as Harry and friends return for their final year. Harry observes the miracles that accompany the mysterious Emrys Pendragon, and events begin to unfold that may lead to Arthur's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more chapters in the future depending on how this is received. If I do, however, BE WARNED: this will become a Merthur slash fic. I had to repost do to some glitchiness on AO3. The full story wasn't showing up. Apologies to the select few who had already commented on it. I hope you find it again.

He didn’t do it because of destiny. 

Even as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, not for the first time, Merlin was thinking tiredly of never-ending cycles. Day and night. Life and death. Promises and disappointment. Success and failure. Initiation and graduation.

The old hat made a familiar sound of surprise, but no one else quite knew why. Hogwarts couldn’t remember the face of the wayward student who’d earned the same attention. The same student.

Merlin was sorted into Gryffindor (by choice; by demand) and so he donned both red and gold and tried not to think too hard about what those colors meant to him.

He did it for the same reason that he had done before. He did it for the stretch of years behind him—more than a thousand, perhaps a bit less than two. For every memory, both gorgeous and agonizing. He did it out of boredom, as an excuse to keep going, to give himself something to do.

He did it out of hopelessness, but the problem was that he didn’t suspect—had no reason to expect anything anymore. 

So Merlin wore the Pendragon—Gryffindor colors and enrolled into the school yet again. For the second? Fifth? Eighth time? He did it without expectation. He did it for no reason other than that he could.

And he watched. Watched little Harry Potter fight through a dark and mighty destiny of his own. Watched and didn’t lift a finger. And why? Because there was always an evil sorcerer, a dark wizard, a corrupt politician. There was always peril and there was always war, magic or otherwise, but in the end…nothing changed. The world moved on and Merlin was dragged along with it, still waiting, but scarcely hoping. 

For with all the darkness in the world, where was Arthur? Where was his King? 

Still in Avalon, still nothing but ash upon a lake, still the face that most haunted Merlin’s memory…still the ghost that most haunted his heart.

So Merlin watched.

And waited.

As always.

 

***

Voldemort was dead, and Harry Potter was free—standing on the edge of the bridge where he had just watched the Elder Wand fall in two broken bits with his fingers tucked into the hands of his friends.

And standing back with the other students, in calm and in mourning, was the shadow of the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, who looked more himself than he had in years, sporting the body of his seventeen-year-old self and gripping a stick—for that’s what it was; he had never needed a wand—in his right hand with his eyes set on the lake. He hadn’t killed many during The Battle. Just two. Two insignificant Death Eaters who happened upon him and got to see, as many never had or would, just how frightening this slip of a man could be.

Merlin was remembering, as witches and wizards worked to clean up and rebuild the school around him, how difficult it had been to move the lake, pulling the world out of the way to drag its precious waters closer to the castle. He was remembering the castle, how it once was, before it became Hogwarts often with himself often sitting in the shadows of the crumbling walls. The Great Hall was grander now, the bricks a different color, the castle larger and greater and more carefully protected. Even in its current state. He remembered the founders, terrified and unknowing of him, as they asked permission to use the ruins for their magic school.

He remembered smiling, thinking oh the irony and then saying yes. And then he remembered walking away, heart not breaking because there was nothing left to break, as he left this one last thing behind.

Standing on the castle stairs, Merlin-the-student let his eyes find the lake, and could not even find it in himself to be disappointed. Another happy ending to yet another terrible war and still there had been no Arthur.

Would there ever be?

Arthur was a memory, a story, a shattered dream.

“Oi, there Emrys! Right? You’re Emrys?” 

Merlin forced a dumb smile and turned his back on the lake. On his hopes. On his dreams.

“Yes?”

***

Harry Potter was blissfully happy. His destiny was done. Prophecy fulfilled. And though there had been loss and pain and mourning, he could smile again.

It was a new year at Hogwarts, his last one, and for once it had a very high chance of being normal. Many of his friends were there, though some had moved on. Most importantly, Ron and Hermione were at his side.

But Harry didn’t know what to make of Emrys. He had, in fact, never even noticed the other boy before. A seventh year Gryffindor, Emrys was tall and built like a beanpole with dark hair and truly piercing blue eyes. He had a perpetual look of sadness, and Harry found it odd.

Harry wondered, quite seriously, why he couldn’t remember meeting Emrys before. He couldn’t remember seeing him sorted, couldn’t remember if he had been in the DA, couldn’t remember if they’d been in any classes together, for surely at some point, they must have. But he couldn’t remember, and that bothered him. Often things he couldn’t remember indicated something bad. Or someone.

“Oi, Emrys,” Harry said at the dinner table, smiling merrily. “Where are you from anyway? How come we’ve never talked to you before?”

The resulting smile was obviously forced. “I have a talent for not drawing attention to myself when I feel the need to.”

“Oh I get it,” Ron said a bit haughtily. “Didn’t want to get tied up in this Voldemort rubbish? Can hardly blame you.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped, then shot Emrys an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Emrys.”

“No need to apologize, Hermione. It wasn’t you that implied my cowardice.”

Ron wrinkled his nose, but before he could huff out the inevitable retort, Harry pushed again.

“I did ask where you’re from?”

Emrys wasn’t even attempting to smile anymore. 

“I don’t tell people that.”

“Well, why not?” Ron demanded, much to his girlfriend’s disdain.

Emrys did smile then, more genuinely, but it was a broken, twisted thing that sat terribly on face.

“Because it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Harry immediately wanted to apologize, stomach plummeting, hating himself for asking, because he knew how that felt. Hermione opened her mouth to do the same, but couldn’t quite manage the task. Ron looked a bit dejected.

Emrys rose from his seat and for a slip of a man, he managed to look quite intimidating. But only for a moment. A glimpse. Like light glaring off of glass out of the corner of one’s eye.

“Excuse me,” he said with all the finesse of a king, and swept out of the Great Hall dramatically, yet silently. Perhaps with all the finesse of a servant.

But this time, someone else noticed, and Harry was reassured.

“Don’t mind Emrys,” said Luna from behind their seats. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spun to greet the girl. She smiled dreamily. “He’s distant on purpose. Hides on purpose. But I think that he’s really just sad. He’s lost something, you see. Lost himself.”

“How can you lose yourself?” Ron asked, miffed.

Luna’s smile turned sad.

“By losing your heart.”

***

There was something wrong. In restoring Hogwarts to its former glory, some great old spell had slipped out of place. The staircases no longer moved. The portraits were all still. The ghosts were gone. And apparating on the grounds was now a worrying possibility.

“We’re not sure who created half of the original protection spells,” Headmistress McGonagall was saying to the teachers as a group. It was noon, lunch, and the teachers were gathered at the high table while the students ate at their customary tables, some eavesdropping, like Harry and Ron and Hermione. And Emrys. He was sitting close to their group today. Perhaps he always had, Harry thought, and they simply hadn’t noticed.

“The histories all suggest an outside source during the founder’s era, but they name neither the wizard, nor the spell used. I’m open to suggestions for alternative.”

The teacher’s all spoke up at once, tossing out ideas and resources. Harry and his friends went back to their lunch, but Emrys looked oddly thoughtful.

***

Harry knew better than to run around the castle at night, but it was an old habit, born of necessity. Sometimes he just needed a walk, time away from his heavy thoughts and overbearing memories. Generally, the staff left him to it, but other rule-breakers were fair game.

That’s why Harry was surprised when he found Emrys sitting in the darkness of the Great Hall, on the floor, surrounded by a circle of candles and muttering in a language that Harry had never heard before. At the end of a harsh syllable, gold swirled through the air, magic like Harry had never seen it, and it sunk into the walls of the castle around them. The air changed, was lighter and warmer, and Harry ducked away and headed back to the dormitory, chills raised on his arms.

The following morning, Harry said nothing to Hermione and Ron of the incident. And when the Headmistress announced that somehow, mysteriously, the ancient protection spells on the castle had been restored, he was not as surprised as he should have been. But he did watch Emrys with curiosity: both wary and excited.

It had been a quiet school year, and Harry just wasn’t used to the calm.

***

There was another day that came round, a day that started with sunshine and ended in a terrible thunderstorm. But the factor that most concerned Harry was, once again, Emrys. The mysterious Gryffindor skipped classes that day, and by accident, Harry found him sitting in one of the highest reaching towers, curled up into a ball in a corner, wiping tears from his eyes.

It was around noon then, and the skies were clear.

But then Harry approached, eager to help and comfort, as was his nature, but was spurned. Emrys’ eyes snapped to his, and with a voice and expression that terrified Harry more than Voldemort ever had, growled for Harry to 

“Leave me be!”

So Harry left him be, until later that day, when the thunderstorm raged and he saw Emrys through the windows of the Great Hall, standing outside next to the lake, fearless and miserable among the lightning downpour. The last struggling tendrils of sunlight sunk somewhere beneath a cloudy horizon, and Harry saw it. Saw Emrys bow his head and absently wave his hand without speaking.

And like a miracle, the storm came to a standstill.

And Harry’s heart was struck with fear for the second time that day. He went outside, with his friends in tow—friends who still knew nothing of Emrys, of what he may or may not be—and faced the other seventh year outside the castle, with moonlight streaming down from an absurdly cloudless sky.

“What are you?” Harry asked. Demanded.

“You need to stop following me,” Emrys said flatly.

“Well, you need help,” Harry said, thinking of Draco Malfoy, his heart pounding madly as he prayed that he was right about this. “You don’t have to suffer alone. Whatever you’ve lost, you’re not the only one.”

To everyone’s shock, Emrys tossed back his head and laughed. It was a mad sound. It was chilling. It was also quick to change Harry’s mind. Fear quickly outpaced a need to be kind, for this was too much like facing the madness of Tom Riddle.

“No one has lost quite like I have,” Emrys said, once the laughing was done. He was smirking now, eyes glittering in the dark, in a very opposite way from how Dumbledore’s had twinkled.

“You can help me in this lifetime,” Emrys continued, “if the world splits open, and He walks again, and I remember how to be happy, how not to let the time stretch me into something formless. Then you can help me, but until then…” He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“No one can.”

“Are you a danger to us?” Hermione cut in, and Harry jolted, having nearly forgotten that his friends were there beside them. He imagined for a moment that Emrys regarded them with something akin to envy.

“I am a danger to no one but myself, until such time comes about that I am required to be useful. To serve.”

“Ugh. Why do you talk like that?” Ron said unhappily. “It’s bloody irritating.”

Harry shot him a warning look, but Emrys words’ were enough to send Ron stumbling through his own head.

“I picked up the habit from a dragon. He could give lessons in cryptic advice, and perhaps he did.” Oddly, Emrys scuffed a boot against the mud beneath his feet, as if suddenly shy. He even wobbled a bit, his composure thrown off. “One day I’ll talk like an idiot again. Use words like supercilious and clotpole and dollophead. But I doubt it.”

“You put the spells back on the castle,” Harry blurted out suddenly, Gryffindor courage suddenly kicking in. Beside him, Harry knew his friends were startled by this news.

“It made me sad, to see the castle in such a state of quiet,” Emrys admitted sadly. “I couldn’t let it be that way again.”

“You stopped the storm,” Harry added, still brave but shaking.

“Started it, too,” Emrys said matter-of-factly. “I hate this day. I keep trying to forget, but it’s getting harder to remember. I’ve forgotten his voice.” The last sentence was a whisper. “How could I have done such a thing? But I can’t remember it anymore, what he sounded like, not even while yelling my name.”

“W-who?” Hermione was the one to ask, and they were all tense now, for different reasons.

“It’s really a wonder,” Emrys said, and walked past them back into the castle.

Of course, after that, Harry was left with explanations of events that only led to more questions.

***

It was just past winter, just past the melting snow, when the dragons arrived at the castle. If the professors and other students at Hogwarts had not noticed Emrys before, as most had not, then they were certainly going to now.

In the middle of an Advanced History lesson, Emrys suddenly stood from his seat, walked over to a window, and threw it open. And there, on the horizon, were hundreds.

Dragons.

In every color, shape, and size imaginable, they flocked like giant birds, straight at the castle. Emrys, ever mysterious, got a bit wide-eyed and ran out of the room before the situation caught up with the rest of them. Harry followed, and so did the rest of the class, and eventually (quickly, fearfully, curiously) so did the rest of the castle.

It was a sunny day with clear skies, save for the dragons themselves, who touched down in the grassy field before the castle and tucked in their wings. Emrys drew closer to them, and no one stopped him. In a V, the rest of the castle’s inhabitants stretched out behind him, but not a single teacher yelled out in warning, as if something magical itself was stopping them from interfering.

It was an odd thing to see—amazing really—when the first dragon ducked its head, and then the others followed suit, until they were all bowing, quite clearly to Emrys himself, who was a good distance away from the other humans, and who proved this significance of this circumstance by, quite gracefully and confidently, bowing back. Only then did the dragons raise their heads.

Smiling more genuinely than Harry had ever seen him, Emrys walked forward and gently patted the nose of the ugliest, most intimidating dragon in the bunch. The beast, in response, growled happily.

“What brings you all here, youngling?” Emrys asked just loudly enough for some of the people behind him to hear.

Youngling? Harry thought, thinking that the dragon Emrys addressed was perhaps the oldest-looking one in the group, and not to mention, was probably half the size of Hogwarts itself.

The beast made a gurgling sound, leaned his head down to the ground, and opened its mouth. Two eggs rolled gently into the grass, still damp with morning dew. One egg was burnished gold; the other was sapphire blue, fading into pitch black.

Emrys made a sound that at last riled up some of the teachers. It was a miserable sound and also quite happy. When he looked back up at the massive dragon, with the other dragons inching closer, as if drawn, Emrys’ eyes were wet.

“Really?”

At last, someone had built up the courage to approach him. The Headmistress came slowly up on Emrys’ left, and the dragons eyed her warily, but made no move to attack. Despite the man dragons and people surrounding, all else was silent.

“Emrys Pendragon,” Minerva addressed quietly, “What exactly is going on here?”

“A miracle,” Emrys whispered in response. And then, to everyone’s shock and awe, he held a hand over the eggs and whispered two words.

“Sylvia,” he said to the blue and black.

“Korrizar,” he said to the gold.

The Headmistress watched the gold fade from Emrys’ eyes and jumped a bit when the eggs beneath his hand both began to shake and crack. There, on the grass, two baby dragons, unlike any in recorded history, hatched. Once free, they coiled happily around each other in greeting then turned their eyes to their Lord.

The gold dragon was truly a sight to behold and had burning red eyes. A male. Korrizar.

The black dragon’s scales flickered sapphire blue in the sunlight, and her eyes were practically electric. A female. Sylvia.

In unison, they turned to Emrys and bowed, and to the utmost astonishment of the Headmistress of Hogwarts, they said quietly:

“Thank you, my lord Emrys.”

Emrys, beaming, was a different person.

“Welcome, Great Ones.”

***

Emrys could no longer be a shadow, especially with two dragons living on his shoulders. He was questioned vigorously by what remained of The Order of the Phoenix, again by the newly re-established Ministry of Magic, and again by what staff remained who were part of neither organization. 

He scoffed at truth spells and lied under them anyway. He held his silence when occlumens attempted to pry at his mind and found nothing but fog and a broken castle and the lingering static of old magic.

It was a while before it all died down, after Emrys had sent the dragons away with a simple dismissal. It had the magical world reeling with curiosity, but he attested to nothing, and therefore, his fame was permanent but not as much appreciated by the public. They called him vain and secretive and plotting, but the most he would offer for interview and interrogation were the words: “Time often forgets.”

He seemed happier though, with the dragons chattering on his shoulders. The spoke only to Emrys and to each other, which was why Harry was stunned when they one day deemed to speak to him.

“Curious, brave child,” said Sylvia, the black dragon, from Emrys’ right shoulder between classes on afternoon. Her silver claws gleamed from their perch.

“He is, isn’t he?” said Emrys to the dragon, running his fingers across her scaly back.

She offered him a toothy dragon-grin. “Like you once were, Young Warlock.”

He rolled his eyes. “I never should have told you about Kilgharrah.”

“I resent that,” Korrizar squawked from the other shoulder. “After all I’m named for him.”

“You look like him,” Emrys agreed. “The name fit.”

“I don’t know if mine does though,” Sylvia snorted, and glanced back at Harry. “What do you think, child? Do I look like a Sylvia to you?”

Harry, not very fond of being called a child by what was essentially a clever talking dragon-child, actually nodded. He glanced again at her true-silver claws and nodded once more.

“Yes, I think it suits you very well.”

The dragon regarded him smartly.

“Good. One should never go against the decisions of a Dragon Lord.”

“Sylvia,” Emrys hissed, suddenly very cross. “Enough.”

“You need friends, dollophead,” she tsked and swatting him across the back of the head with her tail. He glared at her.

“Sylvia…” Korrizar hissed softly, kneading his claws into Emrys’ other shoulder like a cat. “Have you no pity? No empathy?”

“No,” she said fiercely.

Harry, meanwhile, was reeling. These dragons spoke so intelligently. They bickered, sure, but they were not normal by any means. Their speech alone was an unheard of thing for dragons—another reason why the public was wild with wanting to know more about Emrys and his connection to them.

Could he command them? Many had wondered, as scholars dug up ancient scrolls about Dragon Lords and their terrifying capabilities.

“They’re growing fast,” Harry remarked awkwardly, and the dragons and Emrys returned their attention to him. “I mean you are…growing fast.” He addressed Sylvia, as she seemed to be the more aggressive of the two dragons.

“We’ll grow as fast as we can. It’ll be a rushed job, but we need to. Great Dragons are in need again, it seems.” Korrizar said.

“In need?” Emrys asked, eying the gold dragon curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps for you,” Sylvia cooed, looking cautious. “Perhaps for an event soon coming.”

Emrys was alarmed now. “What are you saying?” His voice was a sharp whisper, heavy with anticipation.

“Magic is shifting, Emrys,” she said knowingly, impossibly. “Dawn is on the horizon, while dusk lies firmly in the past.”

Emrys was frozen, eyes wide, shocked…hopeful.

“How could you know?” Harry interjected, more confused than intrigued.

“Great Dragons know many things,” Emrys said quietly, obviously still shocked about something. But what, Harry didn’t know. “They are prophetic. They are born knowing speech, knowing magic, knowing things that no man could know. They are creatures of old” His attention shifted again to the dragons. “Please. Please, Sylvia, tell me that you are not lying to me. I’ve waited so long.”

Korrizar was the one to nuzzle up into Emrys’s neck. “We are here for a reason,” he said soothingly. “And our numbers are important to note. Kilgharrah was to Balinor, as Aithusa was to…” the dragon glanced at Harry, carefully choosing his next words “…the witch, as Sylvia is to you, as I am to…him.”

Harry watched in surprise as Emrys leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. The dragons clung to his shoulders and protested unhappily at the movement.

“Oh Goddess,” Emrys said, and then he was smiling. Smiling so much that it was hard not to want to smile with him. Harry had never seen such a look of joy. It warmed his heart, though he still had no idea what was going on.

So he let himself smile. Just a bit. And when Emrys smiled at him, it felt like the sun was rising within Harry. It felt like the night that he had watched this other man restore an ancient and powerful magic to the castle walls.

It was both frightening and beautiful.

And so he smiled in return.

***

There was a gang of wizards and witches who called themselves Morgana’s Retinue. And the first day that word spread of their terrible goal and their power was the day that Emrys started acting fidgety. 

Three weeks since the dragons’ arrival and now they were as big as horses. They didn’t follow him around quite so much, but Korrizar was often seen conversing with the merfolk in the lake and sunbathing with unicorns. Sylvia spent a lot of time hunting in the dark forest, or zipping over the castle in a blur, striving to fly faster than anything else in the sky.

At dinner the dragons got as close as they could to Emrys in the Great Hall, who took to sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table to converse with them. Harry made a point in dragging Ron and Hermione to that end as well, and they all chatted amiably with the dragon and Emrys, though more often than not, The Golden Trio was left more and more confused. They served more as a baffled audience than friends.

“Morgana’s Retinue. Do you imagine that she’s back then?” Emrys was saying one night.

“No, but I reckon that they think her spirit is on their side or some such nonsense,” Sylvia said arrogantly, her voice sharp and quick.

“There’s a rumor that they’ve found the sword,” Korrizar added. 

Emrys raised a brow. “Have they?”

“Yes,” Sylvia said warily, watching him as if Emrys might explode at any moment. “There’s a chip in the blade, and the handle is mostly rotten, but it’s the one. I could feel it.”

Emrys, who had been eating, put down his fork and looked sick.

“So…” Hermione piped up, “Morgana, huh?”

Emrys’ clever gaze found hers, the sickness gone from his face.

“You’re guessing again,” he wagered.

She nodded and absently scratched a bit of food from the table.

“Swords, dragons, and now Morgana? I’m still trying to figure you out, you know? But this is all starting to sound very…Arthurian.”

“And who do you wager that makes me?” Emrys asked. The dragons were watching Hermione as well, swishing their tails like cats in a way that suggested confrontation.

She blushed. Most did under Emrys’ scrutiny. Even Harry was not immune to the man’s charm, intimidation, and odd air of regality. There was just something about him that sent hearts pounding and blood rushing. It riled hope in a person, hope and a very pure sense of self-preservation. Something that screamed run and come hither all at once. Like a deadly, poisonous flower.

“I…I haven’t the faintest.”

Emrys relaxed, as did his dragons.

“Good.”

***

She came in the dead of night, when no one was watching or waiting except the dragons. Emrys slept across the castle, oblivious, as Freya stood between Sylvia and Korrizar, in front of the castle doors.

“How long, Lady?” they asked.

She smiled, more creature than girl now, and answered:

“With the dawn.”

***

It was weeks later, but it was a dawn. Hogwarts students waited for the sun to rise, an old tradition, in pairs and in groups by the lake. A meteor shower in the early morning drew them out, and most might have fled back into the comfort of the castle before the light, but something kept them sitting outside in the crisp morning air.

There was electricity all around them, as the moment drew nearer, and Emrys, from a small group, rose when he felt it—felt his soul wake up. His eyes glowed fiercely gold, and this time everyone saw.

Emrys found his feet and walked closer to the lake’s shore, as all manner of creatures drew up from the waters onto the earth in flight of something, catching the assembled mass’s attention. The other students and staff couldn’t decide where to look—to Emrys, whose eyes were molten, or to the mighty beasts that were pulling themselves out of the lake.

Sylvia and Korrizar took a stand on each side, slightly behind their Dragon Lord and watched the lake grow still again.

The sun peaked over the horizon, and the assembly went silent. From the glass surface came the first ripple, and Emrys fell to one knee, keeping his eyes up only enough to glimpse the spectacle.

A golden head of hair, untouched by the wet of the water, followed by serious blue eyes, pouting lips, and then a stretch of gleaming armor, a red cloak, and finally boots that clunked heavily as the man strode forward, confident and patient, to Emrys’ bowing form.

Ever respectful, but trembling, Emrys lowered his eyes. Behind him, the dragons did the same.

“My King,” Emrys said reverently, sadly, happily—his voice was loud and clear to all in attendance. Every student and teacher looked on, eyes wide and mouths agape at the scene.

“Oh, Merlin,” said King Arthur, a moment from rolling his eyes. “You great idiot. What trouble have you gotten into while I was away?”

“Arthur, I…I’m sorry. I failed you.”

Arthur, before Merlin, also fell to one knee.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Arthur said, reaching forward to nudge up Merlin’s chin to meet his eyes. “You are the one person who must never bow to me ever again. I prefer you disagreeable. Otherwise I’d never have hired you. Understood?”

Merlin, halfway to tears already, snorted. “Your father hired me, you supercilious prat!”

“Yes, well, I could have easily been rid of you, couldn’t I?”

“Oh, as if!” Merlin retorted, laughing and crying now, and then scrambling into Arthur’s arms for a hug. He nearly knocked the king onto his back, and only managed to avoid being slapped for it, because Korrizar got in the way.

“Dragon!” Arthur said suddenly, though not as worried as he probably should have been. And then Sylvia was sticking her nose against his chest, and he was trying desperately to wiggle away.

Merlin laughed, got to his feet, and shooed the dragons back.

“So…what catastrophe has brought me back then?” Arthur wanted to know. “Whenever we are.”

Merlin smiled and spoke as he helped the king get up.

“Morgana’s Retinue.”

Arthur actually did roll his eyes. “What a ridiculous name. And what the hell have you done to my castle?”

Merlin pulled Arthur away from the lake.

“I’ll show you.”

In the sky above, the sun gleamed as brightly as it had the day Merlin first stepped into Camelot, and began to teach a prince how to be The Once and Future King.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's back and some things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm just gonna leave this here. *flees*

1\. King Arthur

No one knew what to make of Arthur Pendragon. It was mere hours since he emerged from the lake, mere hours since Merlin had revealed himself and bowed before his king. Now it was early morning, and King Arthur sat in the headmistress' customary seat in the Great Hall and looked every bit the powerful monarch, given a rather young monarch. He still wore the elaborate armor from the days of old and wore a deadly, elaborate sword at his hip. If the drape of crimson over his shoulders didn't immediately catch the students' attention, his powerful demeanor certainly did.

Most of the students and staff were already up, which was unusual for a Sunday morning, but who wouldn't want to see two legends eating breakfast in the Great Hall?

"You're telling me that Balinor was your father?" Arthur said, his incredulous tone echoing through the hall.

"Yes, Sire!" Merlin replied, exasperated. "I've said it three times now. Have you got water in your royal ears?"

"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur said with a dramatic eye-roll, which seemed to be a regular facet of his mannerisms. "If Balinor was your father, then that makes you a bloody dragonlord, which begs the question...who killed the Great Dragon?"

The room was already silent with nosy eavesdroppers, but the sight of Merlin--young, young, young Merlin!--twidding his thumbs and looking entirely sheepish at the question, made everyone sort of nervous. No one quite knew the temperament of Arthur Pendragon just yet, and Merlin was ever a mystery. Besides, Arthur seemed rather bossy, and Merlin rather demure, though occsasionally he piped up with a firey retort that seemed to only encourage the king's verbal rampage.

"Well, you see..."

"Yes, out with it!" Arthur said impatiently.

"I may have...sent him away."

"You told me that I killed that dragon."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't," Merlin snapped. "Kilgharrah saved us plenty of times after that, and he took us to the lake of Avalon in the end, which while not entirely helpful, at least put you where you were meant to be." Merlin didn't look at all happy about that though.

"How was that helpful?" Arthur practically shouted. "I died!"

"Yes, I remember," Merlin said. He had gone all quiet, his eyes full of sorrow, and Arthur actually appeared to backtrack for a moment.

"Merlin."

Silence.

"Merlin, I'm sorry."

"I should have been faster," was the eventual reply, harsh and excruciating. "If I'd gotten out of that blasted cave a bit sooner, then maybe I could've stopped Mordred. Destiny wouldn't let me kill him, but...I could have given you more time."

"Enough, Merlin! Enough." Arthur had an arm around Merlin now, leaning awkwardly over their chairs to do so. "Destiny, you said? That's what it always came down to, right? You didn't stop it, because you couldn't. Even so, I'd never blame you."

"Thank you, Arthur." Merlin said, clearly unconvinced. "But it's harder not to believe that it was my fault."

"Excuse me." A third voice split the air, interrupting the heartfelt exchange. It was Minerva, standing fast but with an uncharacteristic air of hesitancy about her. After all, how does one interrupt a conversation between legends and not feel remiss?

"I apologize for interrupting, but the Ministy officials have arrived and would like to speak with you, King Arthur. And you as well, Mr. Emrys."

"Naturally," Merlin said with an unexpected snap of venom in his tone. It was an odd thing to see for so many of the students and staff, as Merlin was well known for his passive, rather docile nature.

Arthur looked concerned for Merlin's ire, but replied regally, "Forgive Merlin, Headmistress. We'll be glad to meet with these people. I feel I have much to learn from them."

Arthur stood from his seat and tugged Merlin's sleeve.

"Come with me. Please? I need you for this. I need to understand how the world works now, and for that I need you."

"Politicians come in many forms, Sire," Merlin warned, loud enough for anyone to hear and uncaring of their opinions. "But it is true to say that they all are in the buisiness of selfishness. They are as trustworthy as a den of snakes."

"I'm one of them remember?" Arthur said and gently nudged Merlin's shoulder. "Don't make me order you," he said, half playful, half serious.

Merlin snorted. "I never do what you say."

"Not unless it's important," Arthur acknowledged quietly.

Merlin drew in a deep breath and stood. Then, to everyone's shock, he let spread a manic grin across his features.

"There's the idiot I know and love," Arthur said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Never left," Merlin said quickly, eyes glittering. "Twas you who left actually."

"Not by choice," Arthur protested, then added, "and you'd best be careful, or I'll have you pouring wine at this little meeting."

Merlin blinked. "As opposed to what, sire? Will I not be pouring your wine? Is that not my function as your dutiful manservant?"

"As my manservant? Yes. As my best and most loyal friend? Never."

Merlin snorted, though his cheeks were pink. "What kind of title is that anyway? Best and Most Loyal Friend. Sounds made up."

"Oh? How about Supreme Manager of Pointy Hats? I'm the king, Merlin. I get to make up all the titles that I want."

"Easy there, lord dollophead. I could still relent and turn you into a toad."

"Excuse me, boys," Minerva said loudly, clearly unimpressed by their ridiculous conversation. "Are you going to be flirting all day?"

"Flirting?!" Arthur and Merlin said in unison, equally exasperated. Their audience of Hogwarts students and staff all had a short laugh at their expense.

"I'll turn you all into toads," Merlin said quite threateningly and the room fell silent, many very well aware of the fact that he probably could manage such a feat.

"Oh lighten up, Merlin," Arthur said around an embarassed cough. "There's no need for that. Now come along. Time to go judge The Ministry."

"Judge?" Minerva mimicked. "Don't you mean 'meet'?"

Arthur's gaze upon hearing this was resolute, his words more so, and they sounded throughout the room, as serious as a death sentence: "So long as I do breathe, the lands beneath these feet from one border to the next are mine. This castle my domain. These people my charges: mine to protect and mine to command. I am King Arthur Pendragon, and so long as I do live, I will decide the fate of Albion, no matter its' name or shape. So yes, Headmistress, I shall judge first whether or not this Minsity of Magic is worthy of such a grand title and such a grand responsibility."

The Headmistress of Hogwarts took a tiny step back. "And if you find them wanting?"

"Then they shall leave by their own will, as I shall order, or they shall leave by the will of my sword or scorcerer. In other words: by force."

There was a pregnant silence, until finally, Merlin straightened up a little and broke it with, "I'm a warlock, technically."

Arthur, one moment so serious and bold, now looked downright annoyed. He held the bridge of his nose and said, "I pray to whatever gods are still listening that there really is wine at this meeting."

Minerva, utterly amused by the effect that Merlin seemed to have on such a person, fought to hold back her smile.

"I'll see that there is."

2\. Two of a Kind

"Dear Gods, I have never met such a group of sanctimonious idiots. My father's council was less convoluted," Arthur ranted as he paced back and forth across the room. Merlin, positioned on Arthur's bed, nodded in agreement.

"They're better than they used to be," he admitted. "Less corrupted now, but it was still funny to see you kick them out of the castle."

"And they had absolutely nothing useful on Morgana's Retinue. Nothing, Merlin!"

Merlin jumped up from the bed and meandered over to Arthur's side, stopping his relentless pacing with a gentle hand. Arthur paused automatically and let Merlin start the process of removing his armor.

"What am I even supposed to do with these people anyway? My castle is a school of magic, full of wild magic children and stuffy old scorcerers. I need knights and councilmen! Strategists and historians!"

"Do you want me to make them leave?"

Arthur frowned. "Would you? These are...your people, aren't they?"

Merlin met Arthur's eyes and smiled sadly. "They are what remains of those with magic. Their version is weak and tame. It is what magic has become, but it is not the magic of old. They are not like me; they are not mine." He patted Arthur's chest. "You are."

Arthur eyes widened a bit, and he blushed. "It's true then, is it?"

Merlin's confusion was plain. "Is what true?"

"Just...there are things I put together, things I remember: both in death and life. They called us...two halves of the same whole. Two sides of the same coin."

Merlin smiled sadly. "Emrys and The Once and Future King."

"Soulmates?"

"Sort of," Merlin said. "After all I was only ever meant to protect you, as Gwen was mean to be your Queen, and your knights to be your knights."

"But they aren't here anymore," Arthur said, then reached out and ran the pads of his fingers down Merlin's fair cheek. Merlin, shocked, actually stepped away. His eyes were wide with something like fear.

"Arthur?"

Arthur smiled sadly and crossed his arms. "Ah, I understand if you don't want it, but I've always loved you Merlin. In more ways that I can say or that I could ever express. The world is different now, and there's no one to tell me that I can't love a man the way I love you. I just wanted you to know that."

"Love me?!" Merlin squeaked, face red as a beet.

Arthur actually looked down and scuffed a foot against the floorboards, sheepish but smiling.

"It was a hard thing to hide, you know, especially with you being around all the time. Always so close, but never close enough. But everyone was always watching, and it was a thing that was simply not done--especially for a noble. Heh. My father would've gone ballistic, if he ever found out. And then there was Gwen and...I had to do my duty for Camelot. I had to have a queen, and I loved her. I truly did, but you were always you, and it got so maddening. There's still something about you Merlin, and it's not just the magic, not just the mystery. It's just you. And I want that."

Merlin drew himself up and took a timid step closer. Tactfully, he said, "I used to stare at your arse during training. Undressing you every day nearly drove me insane. You're not fat at all. In fact, you're so fit that it kind of pisses me off. I loved Gwen like family, but I was so insanely jealous of her for getting to keep you, for being able to touch you and see you in ways that I never could. You're so much smarter than you think you are, even when you're being an arse. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met. And the kindest, and the bravest, and...Arthur I was born for you. I love you so much, and I hated every second of waiting for you to come back." Merlin was sobbing now, shaking, and reaching forward desperately. His hands found Arthur's face, his hair, then his arms wound themselves around Arthur's middle and he was lost to a hysterics as he pressed his face against Arthur's shoulder.

"I love you so much," he swore into Arthur's shirt. "I'm yours in whatever way you'll have me, as I have always been."

Arthur smiled and curled himself around Merlin in return.

"Then be mine in all ways."

Merlin pulled back enough to look him in the eye and said more fiercely than he'd ever said anything, "Yes, my king."

3\. Perspective

When Harry originally imaged King Arthur, he pictured a stern, middle-aged man with kind eyes and an air of unhsakeable confidence. What he imagined was pretty far off the mark.

"I don't like dragons," Arthur said for the thousandth time.

They were out in a courtyard, where Merlin and his talking dragons had a very unenthusiastic King Arthur cornered against the castle walls. The Golden Trio and a handful of dangerously curious Hogwarts students filled benches and shady spots beneath the trees and were enjoying the show.

"What a thing to say!" Sylvia declared, her black-blue scales shifting colors in the sunlight. "The Pendragon banner itself is a dragon!"

"That's because my father killed one and had the rest slain in his name," Arthur protested, looking anything but apologetic. "Why should I trust a dragon when all they've ever tried to do is kill me?"

"Kilgharrah didn't kill you," Merlin argued.

"But he tried!"

"He changed his mind later."

"But he still tried! And then Morgana's dragon tried too!"

Merlin grimaced. "That wasn't her fault. Aithusa was confused."

"Please, Arthur," Korizzar begged, vast and golden in the courtyard. He was thicker than Slyvia, muscular where she was sleek, and just a bit taller, too. "I am your dragon. It is my purpose, my destiny, to serve you as what I am."

"Hell, no!"

Harry, watching, was appalled. Why on Earth would anyone ever turned down the chance to have their very own tame, intelligent, talking dragon?

Merlin threw his hands up in the air. "Arthur, stop being a baby and ride him. You love danger!"

"On the ground, Merlin. I love danger on the ground!"

Sylvia looked oddly contemplative for a giant lizard, and as Merlin and Arthur argued, she apparently came to an important decision. Without warning, she leapt forward, captured the king with her claws, and drug herself into the air with several power flaps of her wings. Arthur, further ruining his image in Harry Potter's mind, shrieked like a girl as he was hauled into the sky.

Merlin was panicking. "Oh, bloody--! Sylvia!" A gluttural sound filled the air, originating from Merlin himself, and making Harry's hairs stand on end. The terrifying command was directed at Korrizar, who growled in objection. Merlin swore a blue streak and flailed his way up Korrizar's side. The gold dragon, despite protest, then launched himself into the air and took off after its mate.

Magical thunderclouds crackled overhead.

What followed was a heavy bout of rumbling with all eyes on the sky, before two rather chastized looking dragons found their way to the ground again. Sylvia dropped the king in an ungraceful heap on the grass. She sat on her haunches and ducked her head.

"My apologies, Your Majesty."

Arthur, a terrifed mess, only shuddered in acknoweldgement.

Merlin clamored from Korrizar's back and sauntered over to tend to his charge.

"You're all a bunch of fools," he growled in a way that becoming almost familiar. For all his apparent innocence and harmless demeanor, Merlin could easily transform into a temperamental time-bomb, as he was demonstrating more and more with every passing day.

"You're not a child, Arthur," he chastised, helping the king sit up. "You're the bloody king of all Albion, and I did not spend the majority of my mortal life risking everything for you to go all squawky over a bloody dragon-ride. Sylvia, I know you're still a hatchling, but you know better than to do something so thoughtless. And Korrizar--"

Their audience flinched back at the venom lacing Merlin's tone, shocked that the rather docile dragon could have so deeply incurred Merlin's wrath.

"--if you ever try to disobey me again, I will have your scales for Arthur's armor. I will lock you beneath this castle as Uther once entrapped your ancestor. Disobeying a dragonlord could break the balance of nature. It could kill you. It could crack what few strings remain of Old Magic. It could destroy us all."

Korrizar bowed his head. "Yes, Lord Emrys. It will never happen again. I...I'm sorry."

Merlin visibly softened at those words.

"It's alright. You didn't know."

"Merlin..." Arthur spoke up, sounding tired but resigned. "I'm sorry, too."

Merlin's eyebrows rose so high on his forehead that bystanders were afraid they would fly away at any given moment. Gaius, long dead, would've been impressed by such an expression. Arthur, however, ignored Merlin's shock and rose to his feet. He then walked slowly over to Korrizar and gave a formal, deep bow.

"I would be honored to accept you as my dragon, Korrizar." Arthur rose and smiled slightly. "You will have to forgive me for being hesitant. I was taught all my life to hate and fear your kind, and as far as I can recall, dragons have shown me nothing but bloodshed."

"I will show you that dragons can be...human," Korrizar said in return. "And I am grateful. Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Arthur will do, I think," said the king. "After all, all my friends call me Arthur. Well, except for Merlin, of course."

"Oi, prat!" Merlin growled. "Don't conspire with Korrizar against me! He tells me everything, you know."

Arthur offered Merlin a mischevious smile. "Does he now? I think he might not, if I order you to order him not to divulge my precious secrets. Perhaps in dragon tongue, so it sticks?"

Korrizar chuckled.

"You wish," Merlin said, his usual attitude restored. Resigned, he let Sylvia curl around him, who was both protective and apologetic.

"I think now I'd like a nap in the sun," she told her dragonlord.

"That sounds lovely," Arthur piped up. He gestured for Korrizar to follow him across the courtyard, where in a move too quick for anyone to follow, he flipped the warlock onto his back in the grass.

A winded Merlin grunted out a protest as King Arthur plopped down beside him on the ground, requisitioning the warlock's arm for a pillow and grinning as their respective dragons curled around them.

The onlookers scattered off, whispering of the shocking romance between a legendary scorcer and his king.

4\. Dementers

"What are those?" Arthur demanded to know, drawing his sword. It whispered promisingly as it was drawn from its sheath.

In the distance, over a hundred black figures swept across the sky, quite quickly coming towards the castle where their small party stood in wait.

"Dementers," Harry said knowingly from his left. His wand was already drawn, held by a white-knuckled grip. "They make you go all cold, remember your worst moments, and they can eat souls."

"They're the Dorocha," Merlin added from Arthur's left, not trying to contradict Harry's explanation, but perhaps adding to it.

"I thought that those things all went back beyond the veil when Lancelot died," the king stated.

Merlin sighed and stepped forward and in front of Arthur. The king grimaced, but allowed it.

"Not all of them got back through the veil. Left alone for so long, they changed into what they are now. They are cold creatures and they cannot be killed, as they are already dead. They crave warmth as much as they fear it, so they consume souls to gain strength. It is the only sort of light that they can truly touch, as ethereal as they are."

"There is a spell that scares them away," Harry said, eyeing Merlin speculatively. "The patronous."

"Yes, I know," Merlin said, and proceeded forward, towards the oncoming mass of death.

Harry started to follow, but Arthur put a steadying hand on his arm.

"Wait," he said simply.

"They're not so easy to fight when they get too close," Harry started to protest. "Once you start feeling afraid, it's much harder to make the patronous work."

"Well, I have faith that you can handle it, if it comes to that, and my sword can kill anything, no matter how bad I'm feeling. Regardless, they'll never get close."

Harry watched the cloud of black as it grew closer, and Merlin walked on, unperturbed.

"You sure?"

Arthur chuckled. "If Merlin's walking headfirst into danger, he's usually doing it for a good reason."

At that very moment, a rip formed in the sky, black as pitch by the dementers, and they all stopped and stared vacantly into it. Words of power filled the air, words of command, and Harry shivered as chills rose on his skin.

"It's the veil," Arthur identified, and just as he named the thing, the dementers all dutifully flew into the blackness. It sealed itself with a hiss.

Merlin, expression blank, returned to Arthur's side.

"I killed the Callieach centuries ago," he explained shortly.

Really, neither Harry nor Arthur knew what to do with that tidbit of information. Either way, it was terrifying.


End file.
